Multitudes
by BonesOfBirdWings
Summary: James T. Kirk has been an important feature in thousands of universes - Jim Kirk knows this very well. After all, Jim has lived and died a thousand times, even if he is only technically twenty-two.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This first oneshot takes place before the academy. It might turn into a series of linked oneshots that span the movies and beyond. Tell me what you think!

**Multitudes**

_Do I contradict myself?  
Very well then I contradict myself,  
(I am large, I contain multitudes.) _

_~ Walt Whitman_

Jim Kirk is only twenty-two, but he feels ancient. He has lived and died a thousand times, has met a million people, has explored a hundred new planets. He has been a farmer, a professor, an engineer, a criminal, a detective, a Starfleet officer. He has loved, both men and women, Vulcans and Andorians and Orions and humans, and each precious name is scrawled across his heart in blood-red ink. He has hated, for wanton destruction and deaths that have not happened (_might never happen_) in this universe.

He has never told anyone about the lives inside his head, the James T. Kirks that are not him, but might as well be. They have lived in different worlds and different times (_some better, but others worse_), but he knows the nuances of their characters as well as his own name. (_Not that he'd forget that – there are thousands of Jim Kirks in his brain._)

He's not quite sure where he fits in. There's not much left to do (_and so he drifts_). James T. Kirk has been a criminal and hero, and has even lived several lives of concentrated mediocrity (_there's not even failure left untouched, and that's more bitter than it should be_). Jim doesn't know if he wants to even try to match the feats of the other James Kirks. He had tried, on Tarsus IV, armed with the knowledge of hundreds of plans, the circumstances of thousands of deaths, but he had forgotten that pure chance rules all universes equally, and his group of children was mowed down by a squadron of soldiers that had never been in that particular cave before (_stupid stupid stupid, and others paid in blood_). By a cruel twist of fate, Jim survived. It was the first time in this existence that he wanted to die. It has not been the last.

He doesn't know why he's been cursed with this useless, paralyzing knowledge of other Kirks. Perhaps it has something to do with the circumstances of his birth. The lightning storm could have given off some mysterious radiation or something; Jim can't find a scientific consensus on the nature of the storm that appeared in space just before his father died (_he would have done better, would have scanned the anomaly even in the midst of destruction, because he had won Nobel Prizes for his work in astrophysics_). Sometimes, he thinks that he's simply insane (_Dissociative Identity Disorder, he'd learned all about it while getting his MD for psychiatry_), but then he'll find a familiar face that he shouldn't have recognized, and he will have to confront, yet again, the unpleasant truth (_that he's not unique, and can't even fix his predecessors' mistakes_).

So Jim moves through his life with the grace of a dancer (_he learned from an Andorian and the stage called to him. Died of venereal disease at 35_), speaks with the tongue of a linguist (_Klingons had killed his father and his mother lived on Vulcan, so it made sense to learn. Died of a failing heart at 141_), and strides with the confidence of a starship captain (_Enterprise, Farragut, Reliant; it seems that James T. Kirk is drawn to space_). But the alcoholism, the brawling – they are all his own. (_Self-destruction isn't supposed to feel this rewarding._)


	2. Chapter 2

When Vulcan dies, Jim is silent. He cannot move, cannot think. This planet was home (_to some James T. Kirks_), and its destruction rocks him to his foundations. He cannot feel the deaths, like telepathic Vulcans can, but he can feel the sharp, biting pain of a hundred hearts losing their home.

This has never happened before, not to any Kirk, and Jim has forgotten what it feels like to be surprised (_in this life_). The knowledge of thousands of pasts makes any probable event seem like preordained future (_and that is why the obscure Boraalan religion, with its seers and talk of fate, is the only one Jim has ever considered true_), but Vulcan's destruction… the event is so laughably _improbable_ that Jim has to choke down the hysterical laughter that bubbles in his throat.

So when Spock orders a rendezvous with the scraps of the fleet (_a useless action, when they could strike, viciously, and avenge in one glorious, bloody moment_), Jim understands, he really does. He's felt that paralyzing fear (_more than Spock, emotionally-stunted Spock, ever has_) and knows that creeping certainty that the few people he's managed to save will disappear in a cascade of atoms or will gasp for breath as their eyes fade to milky white (_he knows death_).

He finds it ironic that a Vulcan (_with their lofty talk of logic and stoicism_) is making worse snap-second decisions than an "emotional" James T. Kirk ever did. (_But then, James T. Kirks are all similar in this: they know things with gut-wrenching certainty, and a few more moments will never change the answer._) He also finds it somewhat ironic that he is being jettisoned from the ship that he has captained in a multitude of lives (_Mutiny! a part of him cries_).

And it is bitterly, terribly ironic that in this senseless, purposeless life, Jim encounters the definite proof (_that is useless to him, burdened as he is with the minds of thousands_) of other universes. This Spock is different than his, but that's not exactly a surprise. Jim knows (_oh, how he knows!_) that a few minute differences can have enormous impact on the fate of entire worlds. He doesn't let Spock meld with him (_would the Vulcan be able to handle all of the memories? Jim doesn't think so._), but he thinks that he can pick out the James T. Kirk of whom this Spock lovingly speaks (_did he really die under a fallen bridge?_).

He doesn't refute Spock's statement that he belongs on the Enterprise, because truthfully, James T. Kirk does seem to end up serving on the Enterprise fairly often. He also doesn't contest that Spock and he are meant to be comrades-in-arms (_although he does remember those few lives where Spock and he opposed each other bitterly_). Who knows what will happen in this life? Certainly, fate hasn't been too kind to him yet, but meeting up with Scotty (_who's a genius in any universe_) is a unexpected boon, and so perhaps his luck is looking up.

Perhaps, he thinks, as Scotty emerges from the water conduit, dripping, coughing, and shining with life, he could make something of this existence after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Really, it wasn't a very fair battle. Nero is devious and canny, and he would have been nigh impossible, with his advanced technology and knowledge of Starfleet history, for one James T. Kirk to defeat. But Jim is no ordinary man (_he is hundreds of men, each unique in their own extraordinary ways_) and Nero cannot compete against a crew of James T. Kirks.

It is laughably, stupidly easy to get into the Romulan ship. Scotty and Spock are their own brands of genius, and they make it out of there with minimal injuries. Most of the injuries are Jim's, but then, he's suffered far greater pain than a bruised throat (_death is always far from painless_). He counts it as a resounding success, and deep inside his breast, a little flame of pride flares (_because, finally, he has done something that no other James T. Kirk can boast._)

The tiny flame becomes an inferno when he faces Nero, the Romulan's face displayed, larger than life, for all the crew to see. Jim knows that James T. Kirks are merciful (_to an often unwise degree_), even though most have sordid and pain-filled pasts. They are good at bearing pain, but Jim would like to see any one of his counterparts bearing the weight of hundreds of Tarsuses, thousands of deaths, millions of disappointments.

So he takes a vicious pleasure in Nero's defeat. No James T. Kirks chorus with him in his brutal satisfaction in utter victory, but Jim doesn't care (_one more proof that he is a person, that he is unique_.)

He thinks that Nero can probably hear the undertone of derision in his offer of surrender (_the careful words are shaped by thousands of experiences not his own, but the emotion is all his_) and it's not surprising to him when the Romulan scornfully rejects his offer. Were he in Nero's place, he thinks he might do the same (_and carefully doesn't imagine the knowledge of death settling on his crew's faces. He's seen it before, twice, and purposely doesn't think about how much pride he'd sacrifice to avoid a third._)

So he watches as the Romulan ship collapses in on itself, and then observes as his crew scrambles to save their ship. He gives all the correct orders in all the correct places (_captaining is easy on the seventy-sixth time around_) and sighs in satisfaction as the Enterprise pulls herself out of death's jaws. He wonders how long this peace will last, what the Admiralty (_an idiotic collection of people in any universe_) will say about his unconventional methods, and what will happen to his loyal crew.

But, as the Enterprise slowly limps home, Jim smiles, shelves his worries, and basks in the glow of a job well-done.


End file.
